To Conquer Love
by Cattiechaos
Summary: It's going to be their first Christmas together, and Italy will be swept off his feet - or so Germany hopes. "You have nothing planned, you had no idea you were supposed to have something planned, and Christmas is five days from now."
1. The Idea

Germany did not particularly like the holidays. For one, people were constantly telling him take a break and stop working, and he always disliked it when people found excuses to be lazy. Second, Christmas inevitably meant a plethora of Christmas parties, which Germany found himself forced into attendance by an over-enthusiastic Christmas maniac. (Read: America.)

Germany was not a party person. He did not approve of 'bringing down the house', as his brother Prussia so artfully put it. He also did not know how to 'bring on the funk', as many of these Christmas parties usually resulted in drunken revelry.

But other than those two issues, the holidays weren't _too_ unbearable, and Germany usually muddled through it with as much grace and tact as he could manage.

This year, everything would be different. This year, Germany was dating – as in, _officially dating, living-together-in-the-same-house dating _– the most festive man he had ever met: Italy.

From the dawn of December 1st, Italy had tackled their house and transformed it beyond recognition. Red and green hung, glittered, and sparkled over and on top of every conceivable surface, accompanied by a flurry of Christmas decorations which included, but was not limited to, flashing lights, Christmas trees (plural), artificial snow, and snowmen.

So. Many. Snowmen.

Germany bore it all in good spirit, and eventually he even grew to like the holiday atmosphere. Italy's cheer was infectious, and he found himself smiling more often than he usually did, which Italy delighted in. He had even gotten into the holiday spirit enough to bake _Vanillekipferl_, a type of German Christmas cookie which Italy devoured faster than Germany could bake.

So all in all, the holiday season – his first with Italy as an official couple – was shaping up rather nicely, until he hit a bit of a roadblock. This roadblock was courtesy of Austria, by way of the ever-scheming, albeit good-natured Hungary.

It had all started with a seemingly innocent question over Christmas tea.

"So, what are you planning to do for Italy on Christmas?"

The words hung in the air for several moments, as Germany puzzled over the sentiment. "Eh?" he finally asked, setting his (festive) teacup back on its (equally festive) saucer. Hungary was quite a fan of the holidays as well, and she had more sure to decorate her and Austria's house with a few artfully placed Christmas accents.

Austria sighed, crossing his legs at the ankle with a decidedly aristocratic air. "Surely you have something special planned for you and Italy on Christmas day. It is your first holiday together as a couple, as I'm sure you know."

Germany's brain processed this information. To be completely honest, the thought hadn't crossed his mind at all. He didn't know if it was because he was unromantic or just generally clueless when it came to things like these – but he hadn't realized he was supposed to have planned something _special _on Christmas Day. Usually he would spend his day by the fireplace, his dogs dozing at his feet, and read Kafka, Rilke, or Goethe – but he supposed that he couldn't do that this year.

Austria read his clueless expression perfectly. "You have nothing planned, you had no idea you were supposed to have something planned, and Christmas is five days from now," he observed, his brow crinkling slightly as he knit his brows together.

"You know me too well," Germany acquiesced, and he sighed. "And now I suppose I will have to do something. But this is not my forte, you know this."

"All too well," Austria agreed primly, leaning forward slightly. "But my wife…she's rather formidable when it comes to these matters. She'll have some idea."

"She put you up to this, didn't she?" Germany surmised, from the strained expression on Austria's face.

"Of course," came the disgruntled reply, as Austria looked quickly around the sitting room to make sure his wife was nowhere near earshot. "Between you and I, she meddles too much in your affairs as it is, but perhaps it is a good thing she does, because otherwise you would never get anywhere in your relationship with Italy."

And it was these words that set the wheels into motion. That night, Germany lay awake, frowning deeply as he considered Austria's words. Not even the warmth of Italy's body next to him could lull him to sleep – he was too disturbed at what had been said. Was it true? Was it true that Hungary was responsible for making his relationship with Italy progress? The thought perturbed him deeply, as he was generally against the idea of having others deep in his affairs, especially over something with concerned Italy.

So Germany had an idea. Christmas was just around a corner, and he was armed with a plan.

Strategy had always been a forte of Germany's, and like a general charging into battle, he had devised a plan so infallible, so fool-proof, that his endeavor (insurmountable as it may seem) could only end in success.

On Christmas, he would sweep Italy off his feet.

It was a madman's plan. It sounded crazy – foolish, even. It had never been done before – Italy, the nation of lovers, the one who had learned the art of love at the foot of the Roman Empire would be out-romanced by…Germany?

Needless to say, Germany couldn't help being slightly nervous.

His blue eyes bored into the paper in front of him, once again reviewing the "battle strategy". It was nothing too fancy, but he hoped it would do the trick. It was almost Christmas – Italy was already dewy-eyed over the romantic Christmas carols, the festive decorations, and the 10-foot-Christmas tree that Germany had lugged into their living room. So Germany figured that it was not his responsibility to put Italy in the mood.

It was his job not to _mess it up._


	2. The Plan

Christmas morning dawned unusually bright and early, and from the white frost that coated the bedroom window, Germany could tell it was snowing. Today was the day – Operation Sweep Italy Off His Feet was a go.

"Italy," he whispered, gently nudging the dozing brunette beside him. "Wake up. It's snowing."

The Italian's hazel eyes shot open. "Snow?" he cried, throwing off the covers and jumping into his fuzzy Christmas slippers, racing out the door before Germany could so much as blink in surprise.

"Wait! You forgot your robe!" Germany cried, catching his bearings at last and stumbling out of their bed in resignation. If only Italy were that enthusiastic about training…

The morning was just brisk enough to make Germany wish he had something on other than a tank-top and his boxers, but he didn't pause to get dressed. Who knew what trouble Italy could get himself into in the ten seconds it took Germany to throw on some clothes? Pausing to grab his bathrobe off the closet hook, he left the warmth of their bedroom only to promptly trip over a pesky snowman that was situated mischievously right outside their door.

"_Ach_," he grumbled impatiently, ignoring the consequent rush of pain. He certainly wouldn't be sad to see _that _particular decoration go. "Italy, wait for me!" he exclaimed, but Italy was already out on the porch and exclaiming in delight over the falling snow.

"Ve, ve, it's a white Christmas, Doitsu!" Italy cried, bouncing on his toes. "They're the best…"

The snowflakes wafted gently from the white sky, pirouetting and tumbling towards the earth. It was a beautiful sight, even for Germany, who had seen so many white Christmases in his lifetime, on and off the battlefield. It never ceased to amaze him that each snowflake was different and unique, swirling across the sky until they found a home on some rooftop or window sill.

"I have a surprise for you," Germany said softly, not wanting to ruin the moment. "A Christmas present."

"You do?" Italy cried. "But Doitsu, there's that giant box from you under the tree!"

"Ah – um – that's from Santa, remember?" the blonde winced, rubbing the back of his head with embarrassment. Maybe that had been a bit much…

Apparently not, because Italy reached up on his tiptoes and kissed Germany's cheek, causing him to flush red.

"Dress warmly, we're going to go out to the woods," Germany flustered, his brain temporarily short-circuiting by the surprise attack. Damnit, wasn't he the one that was always saying never to be caught by surprise?

Rubbing his jaw with embarrassment, he watched as Italy was zoomed back towards the house, because Italy never really _walked _anywhere – he was always bouncing or skipping.

Taking his time, he slowly followed Italy back into the house, careful to dust the snow off his shoulders. As he entered, he was greeted by the sight of the enormous Christmas tree in the corner of their living room, right next to the fireplace and a mound of brightly wrapped presents. Italy was already kneeling by the tree, completely dressed and enthusiastically shaking a colorful red present with a silver bow.

"That was fast," Germany said with surprise, disappearing into their bedroom and pulling a sweater from the closet. "You're opening presents already?"

"_Si, si!" _Italy cried, tearing into the wrapping paper. "Christmas morning is the best time to do so. I want to open one before we go, and you should too!"

Germany emerged from the bedroom after a few moments, fully dressed and ready to go. He settled on the sofa comfortably, reaching for his copy of Rilke's _Letters to a Young Poet. _"Whose that from?" he asked, figuring he may as well leave the trip until after Italy had unwrapped a few of his presents.

"America," Italy chirped, ripping off the rest of the red wrapping and crumpling it into a ball, which Germany neatly tossed into the rubbish bin. The present turned out to be a cookie jar in the shape of Frosty the Snowman, complete with cookies on the inside and a note from America which read:

_Dear Italy, don't eat all of these at once or else Germany will yell at me and he's scary. I mean, Merry Christmas! Love, The Hero (aka America)_

_P.S, Can I borrow five bucks? _

That part was hastily scratched out in a different color pen, with a second postscript reading: _This is from England also – and ignore that last bit. America's a git. Happy Holidays!_

Germany rolled his eyes at the message, although Italy laughed. "Here, open this one!" Italy chimed, tossing a handsomely wrapped brown parcel to Germany, who set aside his Rilke and caught it.

"'From Francis'," he read, glancing at the elaborate golden tag. Uh-oh. This wouldn't end well.

"It looks like a book," Italy guessed, as Germany began to neatly unwrap his present. Huh. That couldn't be _too bad_…

Folding the wrapping paper into a neat square, he turned the book over and glanced at the title.

The book fell from his hands.

'_The Beginner's Guide to Kama Sutra!' _screamed up at him in big, bold letters, and he actually felt the blood rushing to his cheeks as he hid his face in horror.

"Italy! Don't look at it!" he exclaimed, diving for the book, but it was too late – Italy had already snatched it from the ground and was perusing its contents with what could only be described as mild fascination.

"Oh, don't worry, it's not too bad," he mused, flipping through the chapters. "We've already done loads of the things in here, Doitsu…We've done that…and that….and that…and we've done that, but not upside down –"

"S-S-Stop!" Germany exclaimed, his horrified expression only causing Italy to laugh. "You're so shy~y~y, Doitsu!" Italy sang, holding the book out of Germany's reach until the blonde man was practically crawling on top of Italy to get to it. "We have to try page 76 later, okay?"

"Nggh!" In his desperation, Germany lunged for the book, and before he could make sense of what was happening, he was pinning Italy down to the floor, his face barely an inch away from the other man's.

Well, at least he had the book back.

"What is it? You want to try out page 76 now?" Italy asked innocently.

"N-No!" Germany exclaimed, pushing himself off of Italy, his face burning. "I-I think that's enough presents for now, we should probably start heading out…"

"Ohh, _sí! _Ve, where are we going, Doitsu?" Italy beamed, _The Beginner's Guide to the Kama Sutra _forgotten as Italy remembered that Germany wanted to give him a 'present.'

"Ah – um – that's a secret," Germany fumbled, grabbing the Kama Sutra book and throwing it behind the couch, where hopefully, Italy would forget all about it. (Although secretly, he really was beginning to wonder what could be on page 76.)

"Here, you have to wear this," he explained, reaching into his jeans pocket and withdrawing a blindfold. He had debated about whether or not to use this, because it was all too likely that Italy would slip and fall and there went Germany's plan of sweeping Italy off his feet, because he wanted to do so _metaphorically_, not _literally_. But in the end, he had decided that adding a blindfold into the mix would make it more secretive, and ergo, more romantic.

It was at that moment that the phone rang.

"That'll be Prussia," Germany sighed, rising to his feet. "He's always had the worst timing…" And reaching for the phone, he spoke: "Hello?"

"_Yo, West_!"

Prussia's voice came bellowing over the line, barely distinguishable between the bad reception and the deafening roar which made Germany hold the phone away from his ear, wincing.

"_Bruder_? Where in the world are you?" he asked, cringing to hear the answer. Prussia always went to the most dubious places – he was probably in a bar in the middle of nowhere drinking next to a biker with the word _Mom _tattooed on his shoulder.

"I'm in Mexico!" Prussia yelled, the ancient phone line spluttering in protest. "It's awesome, West! You should have been here!"

A smile tugged up the corner of Germany's mouth. "I think I'm fine where I am," he grinned, as he watched Italy rip through more presents.

Laughter came crackling over the line, which spluttered and cut out before reconnecting. "Hey West, I don't know how much longer this phone's gonna hold on; it looks like it's gonna give up at any moment, so Merry Christmas! Tell Ita-chan that I said –"

But exactly what Prussia wanted him to tell Italy went unheard, as the line went dead at last. No sooner had Germany returned the phone to the receiver did it begin to ring again, and he picked it up with a sigh: "Hello?"

"_Hey! _Don't answer the phone like that, Potato Bastard!"

"Ne, Romano-chan, maybe _you_ shouldn't answer the phone like that –"

"_Urusai! _I'll answer the phone however I want to! Oi! Is Italy there!"

Germany held the phone an inch away from his ear, wincing at Romano's belligerent yelling and Spain's good-natured attempts to calm him down. "Italy, it's for you," he said simply, placing the phone face down on the table and returning to the sofa to read his book, where it was safer – and quieter.

As Italy chattered happily away on the phone, Germany turned his thoughts to the date that he had planned. A good tactician always had a back-up strategy, so he had a Plan B, C, and D at the ready in case something should go wrong. He might not fare so well in the romantic department, but he was fairly confidant in his skills as a strategist.

To each his own.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't realize that Italy had hung up the phone until the brunette was tugging on his sleeve, blindfolded and smiling happily. "Okay, all ready ~ Let's go!" he exclaimed, wobbling to his feet.

"Careful," Germany said automatically, reaching out a hand to steady him. _Well, no casualties yet_, he observed, as he slowly lead Italy out the door. He headed towards the back of the house, where a dense, snow-covered forest stretched for miles into the distance. One look at the bracken and brush covered ground made Germany realize the blindfold was a bad idea after all, so in one swift movement he tucked his arm under Italy's legs and swept him off his feet, warranting a cry of delight from the Italian.

Maybe he wasn't so bad at this after all.


End file.
